


Rest

by SelenaEstella



Series: Prompted works [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelenaEstella/pseuds/SelenaEstella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Done for a Tumblr prompt:  Something involving the recent updates. Like, Karkat finally catches up to Gamzee and they have a long-overdue feelings jam.</p><p>Doesn't completely fit, but I did my best and this is what happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Shitty title is shitty.
> 
> Oh well, enjoy!

Strider leaves, disappearing with a flash of obnoxious white, and you are left alone in the small, dim room.

Fucking

 _finally_.

Your aching shoulders hit the wall with a soft thud, and you allow yourself to slide down. Slowly, near silently. You don’t want anyone to hear – you need some time alone.

Your back hurts. Your head hurts. Your stomach hurts. You can’t relax, not ever; not even when you lie back on the floor, or in a pile, and do your best to empty your mind and relax your body. It never works – worry gnaws away at your mind ceaselessly, even when you find those small pockets of blackness that allow for _real_ sleep, and not wandering aimlessly through bubbles and steadily falling in hate with the afterlife itself…

But it just has to been this way. You know it does. Leader or not, you are the only one on this meteor-trip to Who-The-Fuck-Cares-Anymore who has his head on straight enough to recognize the fact that _things are not ok_. That there is still _danger_ and that now is _not_ the time to regress back to wigglerhood! You are _responsible_ for this bunch of assholes and since none of _them_ seem to give a shit it’s up to _you_ to keep an eyes on _literally every fucktard you come across_.

And you have come across too many. You are reaching your limits, or maybe you’re already passed them… you don’t know, you’re tired and aching, but your work isn’t done you so can’t rest just yet.

…You need to do something. Focusing on your problems for too long doesn’t help – it hurts. You need to fill the silence before it crushes you; you need to run before you forget how to walk…

You need an idiot to wander in so that you can leap to your feet and yell at them to get out, that is what you need. And maybe an argument, too. Maybe Dave will come back…

…But no, he’ll be with Terezi now, probably…

…Way to cheer yourself up, fuckwad!

You sigh, and rest your chin on your knees. You are _tired_ , on top of aching all over and worrying yourself into a fathomless pit of stupidity.

You think, later on, that that might’ve been when you slipped into a doze. You had been absolutely exhausted by that point, and honestly you never did manage to work out what precisely happened: all you know is that you had been staring at the floor, immersed in your thoughts, and when you finally raised your head again the light from under the nearest door had gone out and the muscles in your neck and legs were even stiffer than when you had first sat down, which isn’t a thing you are sure is meant to happen when all anyone’s done is sit against a wall for a few minutes.

Which later makes you think that it must’ve been a couple of hours at least.

At that moment, however, all you are thinking about is getting your sore ass off the floor and going to go do some shit that doesn’t involve… well, sitting around with your ass on the floor. You are just about to step onto the transportalizer, where you hear something from the closed door to your left.

You are, somehow, both relieved and worried at the same time. Relieved because finding something to do will hopefully be a lot less harder now. Worried because there’s no way of knowing who or what is there and  six sentient beings aren’t the only ones on this godforsaken rock.

‘Who’s there?’ you snarl. ‘Don’t fucking sneak up on me!’ There is one moment of pure silence, before the distinct sound of footsteps cuts through the stillness.

Footsteps that are heading away from you _ohhhh no they fucking don’t!_

‘I asked a question!’ you snap, heading towards the door. The footsteps speed up. ‘Oi!’ You give chase. The corridor is dim and some part of you is aware that what you are doing is very, very stupid but you are pissed off and need a distraction from the misery that is your existence right now so you lack enough fucks to listen to that part, and begin to sprint.

You round the corner and, before the information has made its way from your eyes and to your brain, you have run right into you moirail’s torso.

Because _of course_ it was Gamzee – Gamzee sneaking around, Gamzee wandering the corridors without turning any light on, Gamzee who _didn’t fucking stop when you told him to_.

He puts his hands on his shoulders to steady you, but doesn’t say a word. It is dark and you cannot see his face, and you haven’t actually seen _any_ of him for a good long fucking time. A sense of foreboding is starting to creep around your guts, like icy mist. This is _creepy._

You cover up your nervousness the best way that you can: by batting his hands away and immediately starting on a rant:

‘ _Gamzee!_ ’ you exclaim, packing as much irritation into that one word as possible. ‘Gamzee, what the _fuck??_ It is fucking _dangerous_ to go wandering around when it is dark and creepy and everyone sensible is off doing shit that is actually _productive_. There are _things_ on this flying chunk of rock and we do _need_ everyone still alive if we’re to make it through this shitty adventure! What were you even _doing_?? You—’ a thought rams itself into your pan ‘—you were _watching me, weren’t you?_ Jesus _Christ_ , Gamzee, of all the fucked-up, psychopathic, creepy-ass shit you could be doing, you just _had_ to choose the weirdest, most pedophilic of the b—’

You are interrupted.

‘ _Shhhhhhhh_ ,’ says Gamzee, who seems to have found his tongue at last. ‘ _Shhhhhhhhhhhhh_.’ You hear the sound and instantly dislike it. It is white noise that seeps through your aural sponge clots and into your _blood_ , your _brain_ , slipping through you like sopor and having pretty much the same effect. It disorientates you, makes you lose focus, and he had better stop it or _you will do something drastic_.

‘Gamzee. Gamzee, shut the fuck up.’ You take a hasty step back. His hands catch you from behind and ok, freak-out imminent, you honestly don’t think you have it in you to shoosh-pap right now and if this shit gets out of hand, well—

‘ _Shhh_ , my brother,’ he says, pulling you towards him until you face meets his T-shirt. And despite how absolutely terrifying this is getting… you find that all you can think about is how he actually smells… _clean_.

Not freshly-washed; far from it. But there isn’t any crusted blood or rank flesh or anything else you’d been fearing. The thought of what he does with those bodies freaks you out more than anything and you’ve lost more than your fair share of sleep because of it, but it seems that your terror, at least in that respect, has been completely and utterly misguided and wrong.

You don’t know what to think now. His voice is doing that sopor-impersonation thing again and it is only your battered pride that stops you from leaning into him and letting the sound wash over you. You hold out because you are stubborn, and because you are telling yourself that actually you _don’t_ know why he’s doing this when he’s been being such a bad moirail for ages and—

And then he digs his fingers into the knots of muscle into your shoulders, and the flaring pain makes you gasp, but it such a _good_ kind of pain that that does it, he’s won, you don’t give a fuck as to what happens next. You just want him to keep touching you in the palest way possible and _force_ every doubt, every worry, every negative thought from your mind the same way that he’s forcing the tension from your muscles. You are so _tired_ of being _tired_ and only the battered remnants of your pride stop you from collapsing into his arms there and then and letting him sooth the world away.

But you don’t protest when he steers you into another room, a room with a pile of horns in the center and maybe some bookshelves or something. You are past the point of caring.

Gamzee doesn’t say another word, but he lays down with you and rubs the ache from your shoulders and back, and his presence besides you is enough to wash away the worries and the pains and for the first time in _ages_ you can finally, truly relax.

The next evening, you wake up alone and to Kanaya knocking on the door. But you feel more rested than you have in forever and every physical pain is gone. And when they come back, so will Gamzee. You are sure of that. He will come back when you are about to collapse again, to cave in from the strain and stress of it all. And despite the fact that, as your moirail, he is meant to be there _all the time_ and stop that shit from _ever happening at all_ …

He’s doing a fucking good job.

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly how I interpret Karkat's mannerisms in canon. Poor guy seems really depressed to me U_U


End file.
